


Accommodation

by saavik13



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Caning, Dom/sub, F/M, Femdom, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-15
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-01 15:50:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1045709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saavik13/pseuds/saavik13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Accommodation - noun.  Meaning adjustment, normally to meet a need or convenience.  Sherlock has a need and Joan is feeling fairly accommodating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Requests and Salutations

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Case of the Man who was Wanted](https://archiveofourown.org/works/699018) by [angelsaves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsaves/pseuds/angelsaves). 
  * Inspired by [Till The Light Goes Out (On Me)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/641601) by [impertinence](https://archiveofourown.org/users/impertinence/pseuds/impertinence). 
  * Inspired by [I'll Break Them Down, No Mercy Shown](https://archiveofourown.org/works/706058) by [azn-jack-fiend (ajf)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ajf/pseuds/azn-jack-fiend). 



> This story was started right at the end of the 2012/2013 season and will undoubtedly be AU as soon as the new season starts - which it has. Will be two chapters.

ac·com·mo·da·tion  (-km-dshn)  
n.  
1\. The act of accommodating or the state of being accommodated; adjustment.  
2\. Something that meets a need; a convenience.  
3\. accommodations  
a. Room and board; lodgings.  
b. A seat, compartment, or room on a public vehicle.  
4\. Reconciliation or settlement of opposing views.  
5\. Physiology The automatic adjustment in the focal length of the lens of the eye to permit retinal focus of images of objects at varying distances.  
6\. A financial favor, such as a loan.

* * *

Joan knew intellectually that Holmes was a little too attached to her. It was obvious in the way his eyes tracked her as she walked a crime scene, in how he seemed to know when she’d had a rough night sleeping, or when he’d asked her to stay. She knew they were getting too close, too close for a sober companion and a client. She’d justified it - their relationship had changed, it was a mentor/mentee dynamic now, it was normal they’d be closer after so much time under the same roof. She’d hedged - don’t friends watch out for one another? She’d evaded - they were used to each other’s company, and it’s perfectly normal for two roommates to comment on each other’s sleep patterns. But the truth of it was that while her mind knew that her former client was overly attentive to her, in his own strange and often rude way, she knew that on another level it just felt right.

It was somehow comforting to have him waiting with a cup of tea for her when her own demons kept her awake half the night. It certainly didn’t happen often, the tea - not the demons- and his acerbic nature and inherent rudeness made the small gesture a welcome relief from what often felt like blind indifference. Only Joan knew that Sherlock Holmes was many things, but blind wasn’t one of them. While he often pretended not to notice the needs of the people around him, she knew he had in actuality cataloged each and every one and made the conscious choice to behave otherwise. She knew he’d have sacrificed his life for her, for the Captain, for most of the people they came into contact with; he’d proven it, time and time again. Why he felt the need to shield himself from the more normal, sane, and less likely to end in his death, forms of human bonding, of friendship, wasn’t much of a mystery, not after her terse texting conversations with his father and meeting his not-quite-dead ex. Whatever demons Sherlock possessed from his past, they surely outstripped hers and who was she to judge how another person found solace from such things? He wasn’t turning back to the drugs, and that was all that Joan could ask of him as his former sober campaign and as his friend. So she took what fleeting signs that he cared for her, even slightly, and held them dear - even if she would never admit as much to anyone, even her own therapist. And slowly she learned that they were indeed friends, of a fashion, and she drew strength from the bond they were rapidly developing as partners.

She wasn’t sure when the real transformation from friend to this sort of amorphous and dangerous _thing_ happened. She knew when she’d gained her own addiction to the manic detective - fairly early in their association if truth be told - but she’d not been able to pin point the moment when Sherlock had fallen victim to his own addictive personality in regards to her. Was it when she’d fallen for his ploy at sending an actor to impersonate his father? Or was it when she practically force feed him her mother’s flu remedy? She didn’t know. But she knew for sure they were in trouble when he listened to her plan to capture Irene. And any small lingering doubts were put to rest when he named that damnable bee after her. This was no luke warm cup of tea in the middle of the night when he was already awake and sitting next to a pot. This was something he’d planned out - invested effort in.

She liked it. She liked knowing that he depended on her. She liked having him need her to calm his rampaging mind and to see to it that he stayed on the path he’d set out for himself. And in the first few weeks after Irene’s betrayal had been unearthed, he’d needed her the most. He was like a seed set loose on the wind, unsure where to go and having precious little control over it. They tried to keep him busy - case after case - but nothing seemed to bring him back down to rest. He was a frantic bundle of energy, zipping across their house destroying most things in his path. It was obvious he’d not slept, barely eaten, in days and if she’d not been constantly by his side she’d have thought he had to have fallen back into old habits. But she knew that it was only his intellect driving him, unable to stop because he knew that the moment he did his brain would turn to thoughts of her.

Joan should have known that he’d need her to take a larger role. It shouldn’t have come as a shock when she found him, eyes red and overly large, parked like a shamed puppy outside the bathroom door when she emerged from a shower. He was so tired, she could see it in the way the muscle twitched by his left eye, but he couldn’t calm down, couldn’t rest... he couldn’t turn his mind off enough. He didn’t say anything - just held them out to her.

She eyed the dangling cuffs with trepidation. Sherlock couldn’t meet her eye, but the need was making him tremble. How could she turn him away when he was so desperate for some form of solace? She’d taken away his drugs and she’d promised to offer support to help him find things that could replace them. But in this time of such emotional trauma, she only had herself to offer and he _needed_ her. 

“I don’t know what to do.” She said softly, reaching out to take the cool metal from his hand. “I don’t know what it is you need or expect.”

“I am not asking for sex.” His voice was unusually rough. “I’d have called someone for that. I just...” He looked up at her for a second before returning his gaze to the floor. “I just need help to sleep and I’m rather disinclined to trust a stranger at present.” He did not need to elaborate on why. It was written plainly in the dark circles under his eyes and in the slump of his shoulders. He was at his most vulnerable and it was no wonder he couldn’t find it in himself to trust anyone he wasn’t completely sure of.

Joan nodded and ran a hand nervously over the waist band of her pajamas, still damp from the shower. “I take it you need restrained? Any specific stimuli?” She tried to keep her voice neutral, falling back onto the calculated clinical tones she’d used so often in her past life. 

His head snapped up, his gaze unashamedly grateful. “If you could...” He trailed off, a small self-deprecating smile starting at the corner of his mouth,“...if you could find it in you to apply various pain stimuli I would find it most helpful.”

Joan took a steadying breath. “What are my limits?” 

“No lasting damage, anything that will take longer then three days to heal could become inconvenient.” Sherlock’s body relaxed as he explained. “Normally I’d suggest a blind fold, but considering recent circumstances, I would prefer to be able to see you.”

He left it unsaid, but Joan had a sudden vision of Irene and a bound Sherlock and it gave her chills. The idea that he might sink so far into himself that he could forget exactly who it was hurting him - she didn’t want to think on that too much.

“I haven't actually done anything like this.”

“But you’ve read about it at least. You knew to ask for limits.” Sherlock looked at her, a question behind his eyes. “What has stopped you before?”

“I’m afraid I might like it a little too much.” Joan shrugged, the cuffs tapping lightly against her leg where she’d rested them. “Doctors do like control. I never thought it wise to give that side of myself more free reign. I’ve always been afraid that I wouldn’t be able to turn it back off.”

“I would not normally ask it of you.” His tone was light but she could see the pain behind it in his eyes. “I can’t promise you I won’t like it a little too much either.”

She smiled ruefully. “Great. It’s not a sex thing but we’re both likely to respond to it with arousal. Wonderful.”

“Well,” he smiled cheekily, “I didn’t say it couldn’t be a sex thing. It just needn't be. As you well know, I am not opposed to sexual intercourse and I do not attach the same emotional baggage to the act that most of our species seems to. If you would like me to return the favor by assisting in releasing any of your endorphins...”

“Don’t press your luck.” She snapped back, cutting him off, rather harsher than she intended. “Men have to earn a spot in my bed.” Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment, smiling manically at her tone.

“That, right there. Keep that going and I’ll be down in minutes.” He said softly.

Joan eyed him and then the cuffs. “I hate to have to ask, I know how exhausted you are, but what in the world do you get out of it?”

Sherlock’s eyes fluttered open and he shrugged, leaning against the door frame. “I have a particularly powerful response to certain endorphins that allow me to enter into a rather deep subspace. Call it a natural high if you will, but the after affects are of the main interest to me.”

“You sink so deep your brain shuts off.” Joan murmured softly.

“Essentially.” Sherlock agreed, his eyes holding hers. “It’s the only time in my life where I’m not constantly calculating things. If my mind is a computer, think of it as a system restart. I need to power down completely so that my mind can update itself and process the new information that’s been collecting in my RAM.”

Joan licked her lips. “And, assuming you can teach me how to get you there, do I have to do anything to hold you in it? And how do I bring you out?”

Sherlock stood up straight and held out his hand. “Why don’t we take this where we can get more comfortable and I’ll try and talk you through it, at least the beginning parts?”

Joan nodded and took his hand. He was practically vibrating, she could feel the muscles twitching under his skin. He was the living embodiment of _wired_ , she thought, and for the first time she started to truly understand why he had turned to drugs. They walked slowly to his room and Joan watched from the doorway as he retrieved a frighting number of various instruments from scattered locations to lay them out on the old sideboard that served as his dresser.

“I’d best give you the basics.” He said, his tone back to it’s typical over excited loudness. “You see, Watson, it’s quite possible for the human mind to sink so far into itself it almost shuts down.” He looked up at her briefly before going back to laying out what looked like a leather bundle of strings with knots on the ends. “That is of course the goal of this exercise.” He bent to the floor of his closet and stood up with several bottles of electrolyte water which he set on the nightstand. “In order to get me to that point, several things must happen.”

“I’m listening.”

He kept his back to her as he explained, his posture more rigid than she was used to seeing. “I find it necessary to be tightly bound.” He stated in his too calm voice. “An authoritative voice, one that is particularly...” he trailed off as if searching for the right word, “... on edge is best.” he finished softly. “Those two things alone, if done properly, can usually get me to the go under slightly - more so if there’s some edge of subjugation to it. To fully reach the state I require for proper rest, I need to go all the way under and it is during the resurfacing that I typically find myself able to finally recharge. For that, I need to be pushed to the brink...” he paused again, “...and then guided over.” He waved vaguely towards the sideboard and the rather dire implements laid out across it.

“Sherlock, I don’t know if I can hurt you.” Joan stepped into the room and eyed the laid out instruments warily. Some she’d only seen in Criminal Minds reruns. “Tie you up and smack the hell out of you is one thing - I’ve been wanting to hit you since I met you.” She could practically feel his smile even though his back was to her. “But from the looks of these, you’re asking for quite a lot of...pushing.”

“My safe word is Marrakesh. If you go too far, I will use it. At which point you stop what you are doing, and I will let you know what was too much.” He shifted slightly on his feet, still not looking at her. “Since this is new for you, new for _us_ together, it will not surprise me if we do not achieve the maximum effect. I haven’t...” he paused again, his shoulders slumping slightly, “...haven’t trusted anyone enough since...well you can deduce the cause as well as the timeline, I’m sure.” His voice went very soft. “But I’ve trusted you with my life, Watson. I’m positive that for you, I will fall fairly quickly - and deeply.”

“And what do I do when this happens? Will I know?’

“It will be fairly obvious. I will be unable to respond in any meaningful way. At most a yes or a no.” He tensed further. “I do have a few limits that I ask you to not cross. They are printed on that sheet, over there.” He waved vaguely in the direction of the nightstand. “If I go as deep as I expect I won’t be in any condition to give meaningful consent. If you are as good at this as I suspect, I will likely find it difficult to safeword past a certain point. Not impossible, mind, but not easily accomplished and I will struggle to surface long enough for status checks. If you avoid anything on that list it will save us both considerable angst.”

Joan walked further into the room and picked up the list. He’d checked marked nearly everything as being okay - nearly everything. Blindfolds were a clear no as was any sort of electrical or chemical play. He’d stared a few things as being of particular interest - most dealt with some form of pain on his part, but a few were achingly simple. He’d put a rather large star next to the option of ‘prolonged physical contact’ under the Aftercare heading. 

Seeming to read her thoughts he finally met her gaze again. “The part you will likely find the most distasteful is the fact that,” his voice nearly cracked, “I am usually rather tactile afterwards, until I fall asleep. And sometimes even then.”

Joan nodded. “So, if I’m understanding this right, you need me to order you about, cuff you to the bed, chastise you verbally, and flog you senseless then cuddle with you until you wake up in the morning?”

“Yes.” He kept his gaze carefully on her and for once there was only sincerity in his eyes. She saw the look of relief that passed over him as she made her decision to do as he asked. Before she’d said a word, he’d stepped closer to her and sunk down onto his knees before her. 

She couldn’t help reaching a hand out to run through his hair and he leaned into the touch. “I suppose it’s only natural for me to ask what’s in it for me?”

“I’ve a very talented tongue, if you decide for the optional sexual elements.” he offered up cheekily before adding - almost as an after thought, “m’lady”. 

“Hum.” she murmured, still petting his head. “Not sure that quite worked.”

“Mistress?” he tried, his tone still playful. She shook her head.

“Mummy?” he tried again, this time sounding a little worried.

“How about we just stick with doctor.” She could feel him smile as he practically nuzzled into her hand. 

“Does the doctor have any orders?”

She eyed the various paddles and whips and then his kneeling form. “I think this will be much easier if you’re naked, no matter how we play it.” She stepped back so he could stand up. He didn’t seem at all self-conscious as he stripped, leaving his cloths in a small pile by the edge of the bed. He kept his eyes down when he finished, clearly waiting for the next command. She could tell he was still present, his too keen gaze still flickering excitingly about, but he was trying and she got the distinct impression he was fighting with himself, reaching for it.

“Can’t you ever pick up after yourself?” she chastised, letting some of her long standing irritation at his habits leach into her voice. “Pick those up and put them in the hamper.” he smirked as he did so and Joan folded her arms across her chest. “Keep smiling and I’ll make you clean house like this before I even so much as think about getting to the interesting part.”

His step faltered just a bit and he lost the smirk. Joan smiled slowly. “You don’t like that idea, do you?”

“Not really, doctor.”

He returned to stand in front of her, hands neatly behind his back and Joan circled him once, taking in his frame. She laid a hand gently on his shoulder and ran it over his back as she moved. His flesh goose pimpled under her hand and he shivered ever so slightly. “If you weren’t so exhausted and if Ms. Hudson hadn’t just been here I would. It would serve you right.”

He kept silent but Joan could see that something was starting to happen in the way his eyes were calming and how some of the tension was starting to leak out of his shoulders. “You really have no idea how dangerous it is, asking me to do this.” Joan whispered in his ear, her hand still resting on his shoulder, her fingers curling idly over his tattoo. “I haven’t had a power trip in ages, Sherlock, and I’ve had months of being irritated with you building up and you hand me permission to take it out on your very flesh.” She scrapped a nail down his back and he started to open his mouth. She put her finger on his lips. “No, I hear enough of that mouth every day. You aren’t to open it again unless I say so.”

His eyes widened just a bit, but he clamped his mouth shut and Joan noticed with a small bit of satisfaction that his cock twitched at her tone of voice. “Ah, that’s the pitch you like, isn’t it?” He nodded his head, his breathing picking up as she moved around him again. He was too skinny and the number of scars littering his body gave her a moments pause. Some she could clearly see were old, possibly from childhood. There was a remarkably deep knife wound on his abdomen that had been stitched by someone left handed. And a bullet had grazed his left calf at some point. And there were fading marks from what had to have been a cane that showed he’d tried this at least once before in the recent past - apparently without success. Joan felt a stab of apprehension go through her - could she do this well enough to bring him relief? 

Luckily she was behind him as she hesitated, so he couldn’t see her face, and she quickly pushed her concern to the background. With a firm grip on his shoulder she pressed him down to his knees and he went swiftly despite the hard wooden floor, his arms naturally falling into place behind him, wrists crossed. She eyes the list again, carefully rereading, a plan starting to form in her mind. 

“I suppose you would prefer if there was a sexual aspect to this?” She asked, one hand treading through his hair again as she stood behind him, her eyes still trained on the paper. “You may answer me.”

Sherlock’s head seemed to nuzzle into her palm. “Yes, doctor. But it only if you desire it.” His accent was heavier, she noticed, and she hmmmed in response, tugging slightly on the strands as they slipped through her fingers. His breathing picked up slightly.

“I’m not sure if that’s a good idea,” she sighed heavily. “But, it has been a rather difficult few weeks, for both of us, and I suppose a little endorphin _release_ might be worth considering,” she paused to set the paper down again and leaned over to whisper darkly in his ear, “If I’m satisfied by your performance, Sherlock.”

It wasn’t a shiver so much as spasm that made it’s way through his body. He started to say something, but at the last moment clamped his mouth shut again so tightly his lips lost color. “Good boy.” she purred, surprising herself at the rush of warmth that pooled low in her at the sight of him restraining his natural instinct to gab. “I could get used to seeing you like this, Sherlock - silent, _obedient_. Whatever will I do with you after?”

He was delicious like this, she decided as she continued her circling, a wicked thrill taking hold of her as she saw him shift ever so slightly, the hard wood against his knees starting to make him uncomfortable. His cock twitched as she tugged his hair again in passing. She knew he wanted to be bound, but it was doing things to her, pleasant things, to see him submitting by will alone and if it hadn’t been for the fact that he needed the bindings to finally get the rest he so desperately needed she’d have given in to the temptation to continue the play just as they were. But no, he needed the bondage, he’d made that very clear, and she wasn’t about to make this evening about her, not when he so desperately needed her.

She picked up a length of rope from where he’d laid it out, setting the cuffs down on the nightstand. She moved behind him again, resting her elbow on his head and leaning her head into her hand. She idly trailed the coils of rope against his shoulder. “Now, did I ever tell you I was a Girl Scout? I earned my ropes badge in record time.” She could see him watching her in the mirror across the way and smiled darkly. “I’m rather out of practice, but I think we can manage, don’t you?” He nodded, still pressing his lips together tightly trying to control the urge to speak. She leaned further over him, tugging his head back so they made eye contact. “Would you find it easier if I gagged you? You may answer.”  
 “Yes,” he swallowed heavily, “doctor.”

“Tough.” she smirked and his eyes darkened. “Now, I know that ladder over there isn’t exactly innovative, but frankly I haven’t been able to get you and it out of my mind.” She confessed, still holding eye contact and willing every ounce of confidence she had into the gaze. “I’ve dreamt of you, strung up taught against the rungs, that pretty ass of yours just waiting...” his pupils dilated fully and she could feel his body vibrating through the hair she still held firmly. “Why don’t we start there?” She stood up and tugged till he stood, hands never leaving their place behind his back, and she gave him a small push in the direction of the ladder.

As she suspected, he knew exactly how to stand and he reached up to grasp a rung securely without being told. She had to stand on a chair to actually bind him to it, but made sure that he was nearly on his toes, his leith body straining slightly to accommodate her tugging. His head fell forward, resting on one of the steps, and she let her hand go leisurely down his side as she stepped off the chair and made her way back over to the sideboard. 

He hadn’t taken much off the table, and apparently he had a high pain threshold if the vast array of items was any indication, but Joan wasn’t one to rush things and considering how tightly wound he was she wasn’t sure how much he could take - at least in his current state. She picked up a rather simple looking strip of leather and walked back over to his side. 

“I want your feet on either side of that ladder, Sherlock. You can lean against it all you like, but I want those feet apart.” He moved them obediently, the muscles in his long legs and sides shifting delightfully. The first strike was more of a brush, just a tease really, but he reacted nearly violently, his backside arching out as if reaching for the blow, and if the ladder hadn’t been firmly attached to the rail at the top she was sure he would have taken it away from the wall. “Easy.” she lay a hand soothingly on the small of his back. “Easy, Sherlock. I know you need this. Let me warm you up a little first, hmm?” She brought the leather down slightly harder, this time across the back of his upper thigh and he sighed, relaxing into the ladder. “There we go,” she purred. “Settle into it a little, Sherlock. No point rushing things, is there?”

He didn’t respond but she could feel a little of the tension leaving his shoulders as she rubbed one hand along his upper back, the other continuing to deliver light swipes of the leather across his back and legs. “You have such fair skin,” she observed causally. “It colors so easily - it’s almost like I’m painting.” She said the words without thinking and she tensed slightly as soon as she realized what she’d said. Either Sherlock wasn’t as sensitive as she’d feared or he was already starting to get lost in the moment, and as she continued her near gentle ministrations he made no protest and his shoulders continued to relax.

She moved around him to the other side and continued her work, watching in near fascination as a gentle blush started to spread across the areas she was concentrating on, more from stimulation then from any kind of pain. She couldn’t help peaking at his front and she smiled softly in satisfaction to see his eyes were closed, his mouth slightly open, and his cock half hard and jutting out between the rungs of the ladder.

She brought her hand down hard on the round of his bottom and his eyes shot open. She repeated the movement, this time slightly harder and his breath hitched, his pelvis jerking forward. She couldn’t help pinching the slightly red handprint she’d left behind and chuckled darkly as he twitched. “Yes, I really could get use to this.”

She left his side to set down the strap and pick up a paddle that appeared to be wood wrapped in deep brown leather. The sound it made was positively satisfying as she brought it down swiftly on his ass. He moaned and she repeated the blow, setting up a fast pace that had his head banging against the ladder rung and his hips moving erratically. It didn't take more then a dozen or so strikes until he was fully at attention and a hint of pre-cum glistening at the very tip. She kept the pace up until her arm grew tired and then switched to hold it in the other hand. “How are we doing, Sherlock? Are you enjoying yourself?” She asked as she brought it down again.

“Yes, Doctor.” He answered, his voice breathy, his eyes somewhat glassy. 

“Do you need more?” She asked.

“Oh yes, doctor. Please!” He nearly cried as he arched back again to context faster with the paddle. 

“Any suggestions?” 

His eyes flickered over to the sideboard and Joan moved over to it. She let her hand run along the items until it landed on the cane and he nodded. “Are you sure?” His eyes flickered up to hers and she could see he wasn’t completely gone yet, but the sharpness she was used to was missing, as if a fog had settled over him. He took a moment to respond and his quiet ‘yes, doctor.’ was so soft she read his lips more than heard the words.

This was the part she wasn’t sure about, but she moved back to his side despite her discomfort. The soft teasing strap and the generally harmless paddle was one thing, but the cane was meant to leave damage and judging from the still not fully healed marks on him, he favored it - and favored it _hard_. 

Her first strike was tentative and she made sure to keep the cane straight. She vaguely recalled something about avoiding wrapping... He whimpered as the cain withdrew and she watched in satisfaction as a neat red line bloomed across the underside of his bottom. She repeated the movement with just a hint more force and he squirmed, a startled cry ripped from his throat. She moved around to his front again and brushed the hair from his eyes. “You alright?”

He nodded, nuzzling her hand, but he didn’t speak. His eyes were mostly closed and Joan realized that he was right - he wasn’t in any shape to consent to anything at this point. She moved back to her place beside him and slowly and carefully struck him again, and again, and again. Each blow wrenched another moan from him and he was so hard she could see a near constant drizzle from the tip of his organ. She brought the cane up under his backside hard, the blow lifting him up onto his toes and she held it there, pressed against him and watched as he came, cock untouched. It twitched in the air, the cum arching and splattering on the floor, barely missing the books on the shelf.  
She waiting until it stopped to take the cane away and he whimpered at the loss as he sagged heavily into the ladder. Joan set the cane down wordlessly before reaching up and pulling the dangling end of the rope to swiftly undo the knot. He nearly collapsed as his weight was released and she had to steady him on his feet, half dragging him to the bed. 

They fairly tumbled to the mattress, his greater weight making it hard for her to maneuver him. He was shaking, murmuring words over and over again into her neck as he clutched at her and it took all her strength to get him under of the covers so he wouldn't’ freeze to death. She climbed in with him and he plastered himself to her instantly. She stroked his back slowly, trying to calm him down, only to have his murmurs turn into gut wrenching sobs. She finally made out his words just as he started to drift into sleep - “thank you thank you thank you thank you....”


	2. Will you respect me in the morning?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Leslie who looked this over for me. And to the couple people who offered to look at it that I haven't heard from - normally I'd wait longer guys, but I'm snow bound and bored.

Joan awoke slowly, awareness seeping into her in a tranquil trickle that left her warm and fuzzy as she slowly blinked her eyes open. It took her a moment to remember where she was, and why. The bed shifted slightly and she turned her head to find Sherlock watching her, his head propped up on his hand. He lay on his side, not quite touching her, the sheet draped haphazardly over his hips and revealing that he had not bothered to dress.

“Hello.” He said quietly, his eyes raking hers carefully. “Not too terribly traumatized are we?”

“Hardly.” Joan stretched languidly. “How did you sleep?”

“Like the dead.” He smiled brightly and flopped backwards to lay next to her. “You were brilliant, Watson. Positively brilliant.” He turned his head to regard her again. “I am sorry that I gave into exhaustion before I could return the favor.” His eyes narrowed as his nose twitched. “Of course, seeing as we do not currently have a case, I would be more than happy to do so now – seeing as how you are once again aroused. I would deduce that you find my still naked form sexually stimulating?”

Joan blushed. “That…that isn’t necessary. I did what I did _for you._ I didn’t expect any kind of…payment.”

Sherlock rolled over and hesitated, his hand almost but not quite making contact with hers before he pulled it back. “I realize that in the course of our encounter you never actually made any sexual contact with me – however, I had the distinct impression that you enjoyed it in a visceral and arousing way. Your pupils were fully dilated last night, and I could clearly smell your arousal then as well as now. It would be ridiculous to deny yourself some measure of satisfaction when I am offering it, Watson. I certainly found the entire encounter sufficiently stimulating considering I spent myself embarrassingly early into the evening. I dare say, most of my dominates would have punished me rather harshly for that.”

“The point was to help you to sleep, Sherlock. You were hardly likely to do that with an erection.” Joan sighed. “I can’t deny that…I enjoyed it. I did. And…I’m not actually adverse to…accommodating similar requests.” She studiously avoided his eyes as she made that confession. “It’s just…sex is a…personal thing– for me. I know you don’t have the same baggage attached to it, but I don’t just take anyone to bed.”

“I do so hate to point this out to you, but we are already _in bed_.” Sherlock reached out to gently turn her head, forcing her to look at him. “I hardly think that at this point there’s anything left hidden between us. I will understand if you do not wish to cross this last line. We live together and work as partners. It would be difficult to become casual lovers and spend so much time together. I must confess that I already find it emotionally compromising to watch you preparing for dates with other men. I imagine it would be more difficult to do so if we were involved sexually.”

“Are you saying you get jealous of my dates?”

“Essentially.” He stared hard into her eyes. “I am used to open relationships, Watson. But I am not used to sharing something that I do not partake in myself. It is…humbling, in a not particularly pleasant way. Sexual repression is one fetish I do not possess.”

“I’m not used to sharing at all- sexually that is.” Joan swallowed heavily. 

“Then we are agreed. Exclusivity it shall be – unless at some point you wish to explore the more communal activities one can find amongst the fetish community. At which point we can discuss your limits.” He smirked and Joan bit back a retort that would have been more instinctive than truthful. He seemed to sense her unease. “That is, if you wish to pursue this through its logical evolution?”

“I…yes?” Joan answered, struggling with the sudden pounding of her heart. “How would this work? I mean, last night you were…and this morning…?”

“I was submissive last evening, and I am not acting in that fashion this morning.” Sherlock filled in, dropping his hand away. “I can easily return to that mindset if it is what you wish, Doctor.” He lowered his eyes. “But I do not require it in all encounters.” He looked up briefly. “Do you?”

“I don’t know.” Joan admitted softly. “This is new to me, Sherlock. I don’t know…I don’t know if I can turn it on and off that easily.”

“How do you normally like your lovers?” he inquired as he slowly sat up, letting the sheet fall away from him revealing the full length of his body and the clear signs of last nights activities that had yet to fade.

Joan blushed as she took the marks in, her tongue unconsciously darting out to wet her lips. He followed her line of sight and smirked as he realized what had caused her reaction. “You like seeing your work.”

“Yes.” Joan confessed breathlessly. “I do.” She forced herself to meet his gaze. “And I do tend to like to…give direction.”

He smiled wickedly as he sank further down the bed, dragging the covers away from her. “What are the Doctor’s orders?”

Joan sucked in a sharp breath as his hands lifted the bottom cuff of her pajama pants to gently caress her ankle. He leaned down, running his nose up the arch of her foot before pressing a light kiss to her lateral malleolus. “You don’t seem to need orders at the moment.”

“Need, no.” He whispered against her skin. “But I am not the one in need of release at the moment.” His eyes flickered up to hers. “If you need to give orders, than do so and I will submit to them. Otherwise, I am content to investigate every inch of you from bottom to top at my leisure – until you tell me to stop.” His tongue drew a lazy path around the bone and up the side of her Achilles before he nipped gently at it.

“Sherlock,” she gasped. “that’s…that’s…”

“Not an erogenous zone?” He chuckled as he moved to her other ankle and repeated the process. “I beg to differ, Doctor.”

Something inside her seemed to give as his hands moved up her calf. She shifted her feet to push him away, at the same time catching the elastic of her bottoms and starting to shove them down. He caught her hands gently and shook his head. 

“May I, my Doctor?” he asked softly, his eyes the gentlest she’d ever seen them. She nodded and he slowly and carefully pulled the material down as she raised her hips. 

She’d been getting ready for bed when he’d caught her in the hall the night before and she’d not been wearing anything more than the thin pants and t-shirt. His eyes dilated as he saw her exposed and his breathing increased. She reached down and pulled the shirt over her head and off, leaving her as completely naked as him for the first time. His nostrils flared as her hand moved lazily down over her stomach to tease gently at her own curls.

“Watson…” he breathed, the muscles in his throat moving as he swallowed. His eyes were focused on her fingers and she smiled wickedly.

“You were boasting about your tongue.” She shifted one leg to give him a better view, her fingers dipping lower. She’d been soaking wet the night before and the hairs were stiff with the dried evidence of her arousal. Her fingers rubbed lower, picking up a bit of the new moister that had gathered and dragging it up. “Is that still on the table?”

“Oh yes.” He croaked, falling nearly instantly to lay on his stomach, his head rubbing against her bent knee. “Oh yes, _please_ ,” he whispered. 

She raised her hand to tangle her fingers through his hair, rubbing her juices in to the locks as he nuzzled into her palm. “You have no idea how gorgeous you are, all willing and eager.” She said, closing her eyes and tipping her head back. Her teeth bit into her lip as a jolt of arousal made her squeeze her legs together before opening them wide. “I’ll tell you when to stop.” She hissed, looking down as she guided his head to her.

He pressed a light kiss to her mound before ghosting his nose across her to nuzzle into the crease of her thigh. His fingers trailed along her legs, their touch light enough to sensitize, just right to keep them from tickling her, and she laid back against the pillows with a sigh. He teased her gently with his lips, his tongue barely darting out to taste the hint of moisture that had collected on her legs. Her breath hitched as his teeth grazed her ever so slightly and her hips rose. He nipped her thigh harder and she spread her legs wider in invitation.

He moved slowly to the other side, his tongue making a leisurely journey up her leg on the way and repeated his small bite to the other side. “Oh god, yes. Teeth are good.” She murmured, her voice sounding odd to her own ears.

Sherlock hummed, his fingers cupping her bottom to tilt her slightly upwards. “Why Doctor,” his eyes flickered up to her, twinkling with mirth, “I take it you like a little pain as well?”

“Only when and where I tell you.” She responded automatically and he grinned, dropping back down. “I prefer firm tongue.” She informed and was rewarded with a unhurried caress of the same organ. He let it dip ever so slightly between her folds and she arched attempting to get more contact. 

He seemed to spend an eternity lavishing attention to the very outer most part of her, his nose occasionally brushing against her clitoris – whether on purpose or by accident she couldn’t tell. Finally, when she was just about to order him to get serious, the wet tip of his tongue plunged into her. She couldn’t help the moan that pulled from her.

He seemed to drink her in, his lips and a hint of teeth working on her for a long moment before he moved upward. He pressed a kiss to her swollen clit before sucking lightly on it. He held his mouth there as she bucked before gently pressing her back down into place, his tongue darting out to flick at the bud. 

Joan shifted her hips, the sensation almost too much and she made a frustrated sound. He slowly backed away and looked up in question. “I’m sorry.” Joan flopped backward. “I just…I get really sensitive to clitoral stimulation. It almost hurts sometimes.”

“No apologies.” Sherlock admonished, his hand tightening on her calf. “Tell me what you like, or tell me when I stray off course. I hardly take it personally.” He smiled his somewhat manic grin, his free hand going to tease lightly just outside her entrance.

Joan moaned and closed her eyes again, pressing down into his hand. He slipped a finger inside her and her breath caught. She felt the bed shift as he moved back into place and then his mouth returned to teasing her labia as his finger was joined by another and then curled. He searched for a moment before the tips found what he was looking for. “That’s it!” She cried as he rubbed the slightly rougher spot. “Hard, deep passes.” She instructed as he complied, his fingers disappearing inside her until she felt his knuckles against her. His mouth continued alternating tongue, lips, and ghosting nips just barely avoiding the sensitive mound. 

Her hips raised again and he made a small sound of admonishment and she dropped them back. “Relax.” He breathed against her. “You’re reaching for it. I can do this for _hours_ , Watson.” His other hand reached up to rub either side of her clitoris. “Truly, this is heaven.” He confessed, his nose once again rubbing her before his tongue darted in to join his fingers. Her hands moved to her breasts and she squeezed them, rolling her nipples, pinching in time with his movements.

Joan lost track of how long he lapped at her, his hand nearly entirely inside her as he slowly brought her to orgasm. It wasn’t a simple process, her climax nearly always coming in small ripples that built to a larger tidal wave. He patiently road out each small plateau, backing off as each ended allowing her to catch her breath before gently building to the next one. Now that he knew how sensitive she could be, he was careful in how often he stimulated her clitoris directly, but he made sure to return to it occasionally, his warm mouth and tongue sending jolts of electricity through her veins. She was panting, her eyes screwed shut and her head floundering on the pillow, hips undulating with the rhythm of his fingers, reduced to incoherent moans. His fingers found the place again and he pressed hard with one hand, the other catching the side of her clitoris as he bit down slightly on her thigh and she cried out as she tipped over.

She blinked as it ended and sighed as he lapped slowly at her, seeming to enjoy the extra moister. His hand slipped out of her and he rested his drenched fingers on her leg, rubbing her arousal into her skin. Finally, she reached down and gently tugged his hair, pulling him up so she could taste herself in his mouth. 

The kiss deepened and he ground against her, his erection hot and painfully hard. He rocked, trying to gain friction as she held his head in place, her own tongue tangling with his, seeking out hints of his previous activity in every corner. When they broke apart he turned his attention to her neck and she arched it, offering it to him. Taking the hint he nipped at the pulse point. He leaned up, his eyes asking for permission, before his hands finally touched her breasts. 

He spent an eternity lazily touching her, making good on his threat to catalogue every inch. Joan was still floating from her orgasm and she luxuriated in the firm caresses, slowly building up her arousal again. 

“I want…” she breathed out, her voice more moan than word.

“What do you want?” he asked, his hand tugging her hip slightly so his erection could rub against it. 

“You. Inside.” She insisted tugging his head around to look at her. “Now.” She added in as firm a tone as she could manage.

Sherlock’s eyes were dark, nearly entirely pupil. “Really?” he asked, a hint of surprise. “I didn’t think you’d let me…”

“You, penis, now.” Joan asserted, more explicit this time, hitching one leg up over his hip.

“I’ve a condom around here somewhere.” He murmured, leaning over towards the nightstand in an attempt to fumble in the drawer. His accent doing things to the words that made her stomach flip.

Joan bit her lip, feeling torn. He caught the expression out of the corner of his eye and stopped. “What is it?”

“I…” Joan struggled to articulate it. “If I knew for sure you were safe, I’d…I’d say not to use one.” She buried her face in his neck as she confessed quietly, “I have this thing…I like…knowing it’s in there – that it lingers.”

“Joan Watson,” she could hear the smirk in his voice. “Are you telling me you enjoy walking around New York knowing there’s a man’s seed lurking in your depths?”

“Yes?”

He chuckled quietly, the condom falling out of his hand onto the bed. “I assume you are on some form of birth control, yes?” She nodded. “And I take it you don’t often indulge this particular kink?”

“Not in years – it just isn’t safe.” She lamented, dropping her head back to the pillow so she could see his face. “We probably should have had this conversation earlier, but I am clean. I haven’t had sex in over six months and we always used a condom. I had all the tests run three weeks ago during my annual physical.”

“I know.” Sherlock’s eyes twinkled. “I don’t doubt you, my Watson. Considering that I have not actually penetrated a partner, or been on the receiving end, since before rehab, and was tested on admittance and again at exit, I would surmise that I would meet your definition of ‘clean’.”

Joan’s eyes widened. “You didn’t…with,” she trailed off, unable to say the name.

“Irene.” Sherlock finished for her. “You can say the name.” he moved to lay on his side, his hand trailing over her stomach to maintain contact as he talked. “Irene never particularly cared to use that part of my anatomy. She preferred I amuse her in other ways. It was exceedingly rare she permitted me the honor – as she called it.”

“She didn’t withhold all your orgasms?” Joan asked, tone incredulous. 

“No, goodness no.” He shrugged. “I told you, that is one fetish I do not have. She,” he’s cheeks reddened slightly. “She enjoyed watching me pleasure myself at her command. She knew I found it mildly humiliating and so it made it more stimulating for her.” He shivered as Joan reached a hand down to run over his still erect cock. “I…” he choked as she grazed the tip with a fingernail. “Keep that up, Watson, and you won’t have the chance to indulge _your_ fetish.”

“So none of the other women I’ve seen in and out of here – you haven’t with them either?”

“As I said, I’ve a talented tongue.” His eyes fluttered closed. “Most are quite happy to have me bring them pleasure in that fashion and in return they provide a similar service to last evening.”

“But you enjoy taking a woman?”

“Oh yes.” He breathed out, hips jerking slightly. “That would not be an imposition, I assure you.” He opened his eyes slowly when her hand stopped moving. “Joan,” he said quietly. “I trust you. But it will not harm my feelings in the slightest if you would like to use protection until you can confirm my status. I understand it, considering my history.”

She bit her lip, weighing her irrational desire to have him bare inside her, to watch his expression as he came, to know he left evidence of himself behind, their mutual secret…against years of safe sex practice.

“I saw your last test results.” She concluded finally, unable to resist the temptation. “As your coach.” She clarified, pushing the packet off the bed with her foot. “I want it hard, Sherlock. I want you to take me like you mean it.” She ran her hands over his shoulders and arms, across his firm chest. “I want to know that all this coiled power is _mine_. That with one word I can make you stop.” She pulled him back over so he hovered, his heavy weight perched above her, his arms framing her on either side. “I want to watch you take your pleasure with me knowing you are doing so only at _my_ whim.”

The expression on his face as he gazed down at her was a mix of awe, lust, and amused affection. “Yes, ma’am.” He breathed, bending down to kiss her hard, his tongue battling hers. His large hands roamed over her in firm sure strokes and when he grabbed her hips roughly she raised them in invitation. 

Her heart pounded so hard she feared she was about to have a heart attack as he sank into her. From the expression on his face and the tension in his neck, he was having a similar reaction. He paused when he was inside and she shifted, drawing her knees up, her feet linking behind his head and he groaned, pushing just a bit further until he was flush against her. His fingers dug into her and she squirmed against them and the length inside her. He took the hint and pulled back, his return thrust hard enough it pushed her up the bed and she reached with one hand to brace herself against the headboard.

“Joan…” he hissed as he repeated the motion and she answered him by clenching her muscles and pushing back hard against his thrust. His eyes fluttered shut and his head dropped. Suddenly he was lifting her, shifting them so that he was braced one-armed against the wall above her, his long body trapping her under him, her hips raised clear off the bed, his other hand keeping her elevated. 

It was hard, and fast, and _brutal_ – just what she wanted. And Joan panted out her pleasure in a mix of encouragement and keening sounds that she barely recognized as her own. His earlier attentions had relieved her of any desire to climax. and so she enjoyed the ride for what it was. The slick slide of him, the coiled muscles that quivered under her touch, the sheen of sweat that broke out on his body as he slammed into her were more than enough. Her fingernails dug into his biceps and he hissed in pleasure as she marked him, her heel digging into his back as she urged him on from her awkward position. 

The sound he made as he stilled was deep, as if wrenched from his very core, and Joan wrapped her arms around him as he shuddered. He fell onto her, his weight making it hard to breath for a moment before he shifted just enough to allow her space but not enough to withdraw. His hot breath buffed against her neck as he buried his face there and it wasn’t until he softened completely that he pulled away and she sighed at the feeling of emptiness that returned with the loss, a slight tickle as a bit of fluid drizzled out after him, soaking the sheets even more than they were. 

“You may be the death of me, woman.” He muttered and Joan chuckled hoarsely.

“But I’ve just gotten started.” She smirked and shifted so she was lying across him, her head resting on the thick muscles of his chest. “This won’t get weird, will it?” She asked softly some time later. “I mean, the next time we’re on a case and I start arguing with you…”

“I’m hardly going to drop to my knees in the middle of the police precinct.” Sherlock’s chest vibrated when he spoke and Joan couldn’t help snuggling into him. He tightened his arm around her in response. “I don’t see why it should. It’s more a redefinition of what we are, a renegotiation of boundaries as it were. We’ve done it once before.”

“True.” She acknowledged. “But that wasn’t such a large shift.”

“Babysitter to partner is a shift of rather epic proportion, Watson.” Sherlock ran a hand through her hair, scratching lightly on her scalp. “This seems a more natural progression if anything.” 

“I should warn you I’m not very good at relationships.”

She could feel more than hear his laugh. “I assure you, of the two of us I am by far the worst. I can promise you I will continue to be as rude, condescending, and generally beastly as I ever was.” He squeezed her firmly. “However, you know hold a significant number of motivational tools to encourage good behavior that were beyond your previous role.”

“You mean I can take my frustration out on you later with your permission?”

“I mean you can withhold sex.” He clarified. “And after last night and this morning, I dare say I could easily get used to having you close at hand. I may not survive you withdrawing your attentions.” She could hear the smirk in his voice. “I am rather looking forward to exploring this new side to you, Watson.” He paused. “Should I start referring to you by your given name? It seems a tad unnatural to call you ‘Joan’ for a reason I cannot quite place.”

She shifted to look at him. “If it were anyone but you, I’d say yes. But you’re right. I rather like hearing ‘Watson’ from you – it just seems more _Sherlock_.” She leaned down to kiss him and just as their lips met the phone rang.

He was up and out of the bed like lightening and Joan was not in the least surprised when he reappeared seconds later. “We’ve a case!” he declared and Joan sighed, rolling slowly to the edge and up onto her feet as Sherlock proceeded to toss clothing around the room in search of something clean.

“Give me a chance to shower.” She complained as she gripped the wall, her legs stiff. 

Sherlock paused in his search and eyed her. His gaze darkened again as he saw her difficulty and he smiled in a very self-satisfied way. Joan raised an eyebrow. “Keep looking so smug and next time I’ll see how you like me returning the favor. We used your toy box this time, but we haven’t touched on mine.” 

“Joan Watson, are you threatening me with a good pegging?”

She couldn’t help her predatory smile. “Who says it’s a threat?”


End file.
